


The Storage Room

by Saladscream



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, Jack's POV, M/M, Season Four-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 03:43:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8650102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saladscream/pseuds/Saladscream
Summary: Jack gets an eyeful. Interesting stuff ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by one of my own manips (too raunchy to post here, I think). To make it easier to write and less daunting for my fearful fic muse, I set myself a little challenge: write the story in small instalments of 800 words. 
> 
> For those of you who might want to learn more about how Captain Morrison eventually gets over Daniel: more to follow on my Dreamwidth account in a few days. ;)
> 
> A thousand thanks to Pepe for the wonderful beta. All remaining mistakes are *mine*!

***1***

Daniel likes dick.

It’s the only ridiculous thought that fills my brain in that instant, like toxic expanding foam, as the scene gets imprinted on my retinas.

Daniel likes dick. 

Likes it a lot, in fact. 

As I contemplate Daniel assiduously eating cock like a starving man, my brain grinds to a halt, my soul splinters apart and my heart shatters into a million stupid pieces. 

And Captain Morrison gives a breathy sigh of pleasure. 

The little asshole looks about ready to die from bliss – or lack of blood to his vital organs, if the size and color of his engorged dickhead is anything to go by. To be fair, it does look like dying from a Daniel-induced blowjob would actually be worth it. 

For a second, I almost wonder if this is entirely consensual. But there’s no misunderstanding the intense, hungry need on Daniel’s features – even though it’s not a look I’m exactly familiar with where he’s concerned.

Sonuvafuckingbitch!

I swear a part of me dies at the sight, agonizing with horrible, high-pitched, murderous shrieks. 

But as with every other traumatic event I’ve had to go through, military training kicks in. I draw a mental cordon sanitaire to contain the freak-out, and move on with damage control.

Can’t believe they didn’t hear me enter the storage room. Granted, I _was_ trying to seem inconspicuous to anyone I might have come across in the hallway, assuming the air of a busy 2IC with work-related stuff on his mind. Not the air of someone trying to sneak some alone time in order to read the comic book stuffed under his shirt. I didn’t know anyone was inside.

And sure they’re at the back, standing in the gloom, well hidden between shelves, but still. Can’t believe they were so careless – years of tactical training, right down the drain. 

You keep an ear to the ground for any intruders when you try to pull this kinda shit, especially on military premises. I mean, I know Daniel can be oblivious at times, so I’m ready to cut him some slack, what with him being a civilian and having his mouth currently full of dick. 

But Morrison, I just want to shoot in the nuts. The guy’s a disgrace to his uniform – the one currently puddled around his ankles. 

I hesitate on what I should do next. If this involved anyone else I’d raise the mother of all shit storms, put the fear of God into them and make them wish they were offworld dealing with a platoon of Jaffa empty-handed. And once they’d done a decent amount of pissing their pants and quaking in their boots, I’d brush it under the carpet, make sure they never tried something so stupid again and move on. There’s no need to turn this into a melodrama. I know what it’s like. I’ve had my fair share of stress relief after all, though I was never daft enough to get caught with my pants down.

But this is Morrison: smart, promising, level-headed officer and all around decent guy – or so I thought before I found him with my archaeologist wrapped around his cock. 

And of course, his partner in crime happens to be none other than Dr Jackson, multiple PhDs, Head of the department of Everything Archaeo-Boring and Linguistico-Complicated. Moral compass of SG-1.

Daniel.

My strong, geeky, brilliant Daniel. 

My straight best friend – or so I thought before I found him tonguing Morrison’s big, shiny dick. 

Seriously, Daniel, why are you doing this to me?

And more importantly, why are you doing _this_ to Morrison?!

I don’t have the heart to interrupt them. I just don’t see myself embarrassing Daniel like that. Besides, I have other clean, professional, radical means of dealing with this sort of issue. Which they probably won’t like, but they’ve made their bed, now they’re gonna have to lie in it.

Bad choice of word, I tell myself as I tiptoe out and close the door as quietly as possible, my comic book rustling under my shirt.

To think all I wanted was a quiet corner where I could read my latest issue of Batman away from prying eyes. It appears I wasn’t the only one aware that this storage room’s camera has been out of order for the past three weeks. Actually, I’m beginning to think there might be a correlation between the chronic camera problems and this room seeing some action. I feel kinda foolish with my reading material now, given what the big boys have been getting up to. 

I start wording Morrison’s transfer as I walk back to the elevator. I’m torn between Greenland and Antarctica.

I can feel my tight control slipping. Massive freak-out is near. 

I am never going to be able to forget what I just saw.

*** 2 ***

The enormity of it all hits me later that night.

Once I’m in the privacy of my home, my pitiful wreck of a heart – which spent the day quietly sobbing its homicidal, impotent despair – resumes control, and I slump on the couch with a cold beer in one hand and a couple of aspirins in the other.

Right.

Let’s not flip out entirely. Let’s think rationally.

So Daniel likes dick.

This isn’t a problem in itself. At one point, the news might have been received quite positively by yours truly, actually. No, the problem resides in the fact that Daniel likes Morrison’s dick. 

I mean what’s up with _that_?!

You spend five years – well, technically six – being a guy’s best friend, supporting him through grief, withdrawals, insanity, numerous broken limbs and various bouts of crappy karma... And he returns the favor and helps you through some pretty dark shit, too. And given the life you lead, the stuff you go through, it comes to mean the whole world to you and you start carrying a stupid fucking torch for the guy. And so you share everything with him – your food, your house, your blood, your tears, your jokes, even your freaking TV remote. Everything. 

And then one day he falls to his knees and starts gobbling another man’s dick.

God, he looked so beautiful I could weep.

So focused, so dedicated, he _worshipped_ that dick. Caressed it and kissed it with adoring lips, and it fucking hurts because surely it should have been my dick there, all rosy and dribbling with need. Not Morrison’s. That guy’s nobody. He doesn’t love Daniel. He can’t. Not like… like…

For fuck’s sake!

I swallow the aspirins and wash them down with what’s left of my beer, before snatching another bottle from the six-pack on the coffee table.

Daniel was mine. It’s as simple as that.

I had _dibs_.

I saw him first. 

His lips were mine. His ass was mine. His heart was mine. 

By all rights, he should’ve been mine! 

I mean I was _there_ the whole fucking time; if he needed a dick why didn’t he come to me? 

Am I that repulsive? 

I know I’m no Adonis, but I’m at least as good as Morrison. My dick’s nearly as big as his. My body’s… okay, my body’s a little bit more battered than his, but I’m way meaner and deadlier than him. 

Hell, I know everything there is to know about Daniel – all his quirky tastes, all the important dates, every single aggravating flaw in his character, even the ones he hides from the world. I know everything. 

And yet I didn’t know he liked dick.

I feel so unspeakably betrayed: he should’ve told me he liked dick. 

But it’s a revelation that he obviously felt I wasn’t worthy of, so he went and grabbed Morrison by the dick and showed _him_. 

I feel fucking gutted and sorrier for myself than is dignified for a schmuck my age.

Daniel likes dick – but not my dick.

And a sudden horrible thought crosses my mind and sends ripples of fear down my spine, making me all but choke on my tasteless beer.

What if Daniel’s in love with Morrison? I mean, what if that wasn’t just stress relief? What if it was more? 

Daniel’s not the kind of guy to do casual. I mean, I don’t think so.

God, I don’t know. I don’t _know_. How can I not know this?

I put the empty beer down, lean forward and clutch my head, fingers raking hard through my hair.

I try to think. Try to remember if Daniel ever mentioned having casual sex with anyone, man or woman, but there’s nothing. I’m coming up scarily empty. We’ve simply never spoken about that sort of thing. 

Sure, we’ve grouched and whined about not getting any, about our loneliness, about the nature of a job that just precludes any sort of meaningful relationship if the significant other doesn’t have the right level of security clearance. But we’ve never had the kind of locker room talk I know many guys have. We’re too old for that, I think. Life’s kicked us too many times in the head to be flippant about these things. 

So… yeah, I guess that answers the question. Daniel probably doesn’t do casual.

But then, until this morning I could’ve sworn Daniel didn’t do dicks. Until this morning I could’ve sworn Daniel wouldn’t be so stupid as to have inappropriate sex in a closet on base.

My self-hating brain flashes back to Morrison’s hand resting on Daniel’s shoulder. Neither gripping nor clawing. Just lightly and tenderly stroking. And my heart sinks at the thought that Morrison obviously has security clearance.

Christ, if Daniel’s really into that guy… where does that leave me?

*** 3 ***

I’ve always prided myself on my ability to sleep anywhere, but, tonight, in my very own bed, it’s next to impossible. I toss and turn and punch the pillows into submission, slap the covers into shape. Sleep is not just elusive, it’s fucking booby trapped. My bed feels like a freaking minefield.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Daniel. 

Daniel, with his eyes closed and that slight frown of concentration on his brow, a sheen of sweat dewing his temples. His lips are soft and pliant, the tip of his infuriating tongue tracing a glistening trail along the rigid flesh. He’s making sweet oral love to that big shiny dick… and it fucking hurts. I need it to stop.

And yet… God help me, I want it to go on and on.

All these years, I’ve kept a tight rein on this. I’ve made sure never to let my thoughts and fancies go too far where he’s concerned. I’ve made sure to keep a lid on mental images. I’ve always been shy of making my best friend the hero of my jerk off fantasies. It didn’t feel right, somehow. It certainly didn’t feel safe. 

But now the damage is done. Daniel’s in my brain, flashing my libido with top quality material and I can’t find the strength to deny myself anymore. There’s just no point in being all virtuous now. In one single, ten-second eyeful, my morality has packed up its bags and left. 

I fucking hate my life and I fucking hate Morrison and his glossy dick. 

I curse and rant even as I shove my hand down my boxer-briefs. I’m hard enough to pound nails and there’s only one way I am getting any sleep tonight. I’m not proud of it, but sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. And what I gotta do right now is empty my balls as efficiently as possible.

I wrap a punishing fist around my cock and try not to think of anything specific.

Heat. I think of heat. Thick, tight heat as I drag a heavy grip over my length. Yeah, heat is safe. 

Wetness should be safe too. Slick, warm wetness, as I add a dollop of lube to my self-loving ministrations. Oh yeah, that’s much better. 

Let’s bring stimulating, sensuous moves, now. I groan as my slippery fingers twist along my cock and swirl over the sensitive head. Oh man, the extra, dirty thrill of it is perfect.

And that’s when I hear it. A sensual groan, surfacing from the depths of my brain. A mix of familiar sound bites harvested over years of sharing a tent with Daniel Jackson. That deep, throaty sound he makes when he settles for the night after a long, back-breaking day of working in shitty weather conditions and suddenly his sleeping bag feels like the best thing since hot baths. That lustful sound he makes when he tastes the first gulp of a long-awaited, off-world cup of crap instant coffee that only I seem to be able to get right for him. 

And that hushed moan I once caught in the middle of the night.

The sound is what was missing from the scene I stumbled upon in that damn storage closet: he was being so quiet.

But tonight in my bed he’s purring his pleasure as he lets his lips slide over my cock in wonder. As always when he’s discovering something new, he goes about it methodically. Inch after inch, sense after sense. He takes his time sampling the taste of my skin with minute licks as his questing fingers reach behind my balls and gently rake through the downy hair, raising a storm of delicious shivers. I hiss helplessly and beg him to get to the point. 

The sound of my voice brings me back to the lonely reality of my slick hand fisting my cock just in time for me to reap the shame of my foray into forbidden fantasy. I come with the feel of Daniel’s lips still lingering in my mind and all over my skin. 

And just like that, I wreck and defile years of friendship – to get my rocks off. And I can’t even bring myself to regret it. Still breathless, I reach for the box of tissues and mop up the cooling evidence of my betrayal. 

I’m going to have to meet his eyes over the briefing table tomorrow. I’m going to have to watch him frown and worry at his lower lip and do all the little Daniel things I’m so familiar with, and I’m going to have to pretend I didn’t enjoy spurting ribbons of come all over his mouth and chin tonight, in the privacy of my frustrated mind.

It should make for an interesting briefing.

*** 4 ***

He’s so normal. I mean, apart from being the resident genius, he just looks so goddamn normal – like nothing’s going on in his life.

That’s what I can’t wrap my head around. 

I mean, he looks like good old, regular Daniel. There’s no particular bounce in his step, no unusual radiance to his smile, no telltale twinkle in his eyes. Nothing to suggest he’s in a relationship with Captain Shiny-Dick, and certainly no big flashing sign that says Daniel is actually even getting some. Not that this isn’t a good thing: we don’t need that particular piece of intel being broadcast through the PA system. It’s just that, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I’d be light-years from suspecting he’s actually getting his overeducated rocks off. 

And it begs a few questions. How long has all this been going on for? Was yesterday the first time he stepped into the unknown and sucked dick? Or has it been going on for years –right under my nose? 

And closely following those first couple of questions is a whole bunch of other more unsavory ones. 

Like, is he a blushing virgin still new to the game, or is he the SGC’s go-to slut? Is Captain Morrison the only recipient of his tender loving care, or are there others? And if so, how many? And is he being careful? Does Fraiser know? Why didn’t she tell me?! Why didn’t _he_ tell me?!

Ahhh, fuck.

I rub my hands through my hair savagely and hang my head in defeat, knitting my fingers over the nape of my neck. I’ve got to get a grip on this and stop obsessing about it. Daniel’s a big boy and he can take care of himself, just like he can hold his own in a firefight. I trust him in the field, so I have to trust him here too.

And I have to get over myself. There’s probably a very good reason why he never thought fit to tell me – and this reason is validated by my present meltdown. 

I take a deep breath and try to be rational here for five seconds in a row.

Daniel is no promiscuous slut. And somehow, I don’t think he’s a virgin either – God help me, but he knew what he was doing in that storage room. So the truth lies somewhere in between. And the only thing I know for sure is that Morrison was important enough for him to take the risk of being caught. Which really doesn’t help me with what I have to do next.

There are two careers at stake, here. Okay, let’s be honest: just one career. There’s no way I’ll ever let Daniel be thrown out of the Stargate program – a program that he helped initiate and that he made possible. I can keep Daniel safe and I intend to keep him out of this as much as I can. Morrison, however… 

I need to decide what I’m going to do with the undeserving little bastard.

He’s got a good record, as far as I can tell. He’s smart, experienced and dependable – gets the job done with minimum fuss. He’s the kind of officer needed out there to make a difference, dammit. It would be a waste of valuable manpower to get rid of him. Why-oh-why did he have to fucking screw my lovely archaeologist?

“Hey, Jack.”

And speak of the devil.

“Hey, Daniel.”

“You okay?” he asks, a little concerned.

I watch him sit opposite me with his tray. Coffee, waffles, maple syrup, orange juice. Good old, regular Daniel.

“Yeah. You?”

“Not bad,” he replies, shoving a piece of waffle into his mouth. Oh god. His mouth... 

I look down at my fascinating bowl of soggy fruit loops.

And he starts to prattle about the latest fascinating piece of crap brought back from PZX-whatever by SG-11. His velvet voice is a mundane, pleasant drone and his eyes are familiarly darting around the commissary as he makes small talk with me, his cute nose crinkling from time to time when he says something he considers funny. Typical Daniel stuff.

But there’s a sticky drop of maple syrup clinging to his bottom lip and my libido is crying uncle.

Is this what my future work life is going to be like? Desperately trying not to stare at my best friend’s talented mouth – and failing miserably?

At one point Daniel’s chewing slows and then stops. He blinks and swallows with difficulty.

“Jack, you’re freaking me out,” he accuses mildly. “Is something wrong? Do I have something on my face?” He wipes a stray crumb from the corner of his lips, catches the errant smudge then licks his fingers self-consciously. 

Oh for crying out loud.

“Nope,” I mutter. “Everything’s peachy.”

Famous last words.

*** 5 ***

The knock on the door is bang on time.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” 

“Yes, Captain. Come in and close the door.”

He looks curious and rather confident but not overly so as he walks into my office. He can sense something unusual is afoot. It’s not like I make it a habit of entertaining people in my office, after all. 

I take a good look at him: he’s nothing to write home about. Thirty-five. My height, kind of built, steady greenish eyes, brown hair. Standard issue.

I don’t offer him a seat. Instead I get up and join him in front of my desk, positioning myself so the camera can’t get my face. He notices. His back straightens a little and his shoulders square imperceptibly.

“Captain, it has come to my attention that you’ve been indiscreet,” I tell him quietly without preamble.

“Sir?” Half-admission, half-enquiry.

“Said indiscretion involves a storage room, yourself and a third party.” His jaw sets and he pales slightly. “Do I need to be more specific?”

“No, Sir.” He faces my empty chair as he says it.

“Good. Morrison, you know what this means and I know what this means, so let’s not beat about the bush, okay?”

“Agreed, Sir.”

I have to hand it to him: he’s taking it like a man. I’m basically telling him his career is compromised. 

But I have more in store.

“I want the name of the third party,” I say evenly, addressing his profile.

He remains silent, staring at my desk. A little shell-shocked.

“It takes two to tango, Captain, and I want this person to face his responsibilities.” His head whips around to face me, his eyes intense, his mouth a flat, pinched line. Notice the gender of the pronoun here, Morrison?

“Sir… you can’t ask.” The way he says it is very controlled – neither imploring nor vindictive.

“Okay, let me put it this way: I can get that information through other means, so if you think your silence is protecting him, you’re mistaken.” 

His jaw clenches and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, but he doesn’t reply.

“You are aware that what you two did was criminally stupid, right? And I’m not letting criminally stupid airmen have my back offworld. I will get his name, whether you tell or not.” 

He slowly faces my chair again, but throws me a defiant sidelong glance. 

“With all due respect, Sir,” he says grimly. “I couldn’t tell who was in that room. Too dark, Sir.” 

I can’t hold back a snort. The jerk’s got cojones, I’ll give him that.

“This guy is going to cost you your position on SG-7 and your posting at the Mountain,” I note mercilessly. “Hope he was worth it.”

“Yes, sir,” he says, almost spitefully.

I valiantly resist punching his face in.

Dammit. A part of me hoped the guy would prove to be a spineless rat when pushed hard enough. Turns out he is loyal to a fault. 

I lean into his space and relish his minute flinch.

“Tell me, how does it feel to lose the career you’ve fought so hard to build for yourself – just because you couldn’t keep it in your pants?”

I see him blink and swallow again. Stark despair and anger showing through the cracks.

“I’d like you to do something for me now, Captain,” I go on with slow, cruel intent. “I’d like you to brand that horrible feeling into your brain and into your heart and into every precious part of your anatomy. I want you to commit it to memory for as long as you live. And then… I want you to give me your word on everything you hold sacred that you will _never_ do anything so fucking moronic ever again.” His head turns swiftly to me – hope flaring in his eyes. “That’s right. I believe you are more useful to the SGC here rather than in Greenland, so I’m going to give you one more chance to prove to me that you’re not a brainless dick.”

He imperceptibly releases the breath he’s been holding as he understands I’ve just ruthlessly mind-fucked him. 

“Yes, Sir,” he says, his voice a little shaky now.

“Morrison, what you do on your own time is none of my business, but once you slip into this uniform, I want you to honor it. Do I have your word?”

“Yes, Sir. You have my word, Sir,” he promises hoarsely, meeting my eyes with a sharp, earnest gaze.

“If I ever need to have this conversation with you again, Thule Air Base will be your next posting. Are we clear?”

“Crystal, Sir.” 

“Dismissed.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he says on his way out, before closing the door carefully.

I still don’t get what Daniel sees in him.

*** 6 ***

The assault on my doorbell, later in the evening, is predictable as much as it is determined.

“Daniel,” I say, packing a friendly welcome, a long-suffering sigh and a quotation mark into that single word.

“Can I come in?” Daniel asks quietly.

I open the door wider and make way for him and his bottle of whisky. 

Oy.

“We’re going to need glasses,” he mumbles on his way to the den. I watch him take his jacket off and sit on the couch, like I’ve seen him do so many times, though not in recent months.

He’s eyeing my two-thirds eaten pizza on the coffee table when I set the glasses next to it. I expected him to come earlier so I ordered his favorite – and then I got a little hungry waiting for him.

“Help yourself,” I encourage.

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

I observe the way his brow knits and his eyes wander over the room as if in search of some obvious way to start this conversation. I try to help him with that.

“So what’s up?”

Yeah, I never said I was good at this.

He sets his shoulders a little, purses his lips and stares right at me – serious as a heart attack.

“I’m here to answer your questions,” he says.

Right.

I won’t like any of the answers, anyway.

“Daniel, what were you thinking?” I grind out before I can think of something less confrontational.

“I clearly wasn’t, wouldn’t you say?”

“Clearly.” 

He opens the bottle and pours us a drink.

“Who’s in the loop?” he asks, an artificial easiness to his low tone.

“Just me. I’m the one who walked in on you in that storage room,” I tell him. 

The news seems to throw him more than I thought possible. He winces in embarrassment and whispers a curse. 

“I’m sorry, Jack.” He rubs his forehead, a telltale sign of frustration if not helplessness with Daniel. 

“Sorry you did something monumentally stupid and dangerous, or sorry I got an eyeful?”

He trains pained blue eyes on me.

“I should say both, but then you’re used to my doing stupid, dangerous things, right?” There’s a strange lingering aftertaste of bitterness to his words. “So that means I should be more apologetic for making you the unwilling spectator of an indecent floorshow.” He takes a long swallow of his drink. “I suppose I should count myself lucky it was only you.”

I nod silently. I can’t imagine the kind of damage control I’d have to do if anyone else had been a witness to this. Which sends an uncomfortable shudder skittering down my spine. 

“Is it the first and only time you’ve done something like that? On base, I mean.”

“Yes.” He takes a slice of cold pizza from the cardboard box and takes a small, careful bite. “Keep ’em coming,” he tells me around his mouthful. “I’m sure you have a thousand questions you want to put me through.”

“Are you in a relationship with him?”

He chokes on his pizza: he was apparently expecting all sorts of questions except that one.

“Well, not anymore, that’s for sure.”

Oh. 

Shit.

“I’m sorry.” 

“You scared the crap out of him, Jack,” Daniel all but snaps. “So… I gave him an out, and he took it.”

“I’m still sorry. And I never told him to give you up. All I did was remind him to keep it in his pants when he’s wearing his uniform.” I do breathe more easily, though, knowing Morrison’s out of the picture. 

Daniel scowls and downs his glass.

“Whatever. It’s not like we were picking curtains, anyway,” he says wryly, desperately trying to convince me he’s okay with his life. He even takes another bite of pizza. 

“So what _were_ you doing?”

He stops mid-chew. Then munches and swallows.

“Basically? More of what you saw. Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“You told me to ask you questions.”

“I meant general questions about my sexual orientation, our friendship, your abysmal sense of betrayal. That kind of stuff.”

“I’m more interested in you getting dumped by someone whose sorry ass I can transfer to Greenland.” I wink at him, which makes him snort, his lips even shaping half a smile. “Were you going steady with him?”

Daniel sighs tiredly, pouring himself another drink.

“We were not an item, Jack. We were… scratching each other’s itches, I guess. It sometimes felt like there was more to it, but I suppose that was just rampant loneliness on my part.”

I try to ignore the twinge in my chest and take a first sip of my drink.

“So, the cocksucking gayness doesn’t spook you?” Daniel asks guilelessly – while I spray whisky over the coffee table and my guest. 

He smirks as he wipes his cheek.

*** 7 ***

Fast-forward several alcohol units and my archaeologist is mellow, irreverent and obviously getting a kick out of peppering the conversation with appalling fun facts about his sexual life. I think he’s trying to squick me.

God, I’ve missed this. 

The worst thing is I don’t know why I even _stopped_ having this with him. How come I never realized Daniel had almost entirely slinked out of my life? I’m sure I didn’t actively shun him; it’s more that he’s retreated into his shell over the past year. And Morrison isn’t the reason, since they only started hanging out together about a month ago.

So how come I lost track of my best friend? How come I didn’t see how lonely he had become?

I snag the bottle out of his reach before he serves himself an umpteenth glass.

“That’s it for tonight, Daniel. I’ll make you a coffee if you want,” I offer in atonement for being a spoilsport.

“Are you kicking me out?”

“Nope, just trying to look out for my pal: future-Daniel. He won’t thank you for the raging hangover tomorrow morning, and he’ll hold me responsible.”

“Wuss,” he pouts with one eye closed.

“Absolutely. Future-Daniel is scarier than you.”

I get up, gather the glasses and head for the kitchen – a sluggish Daniel brings up the rear and the empty pizza box.

“Can I sleep over?” he asks guardedly, like I would seriously consider putting him in a cab and sending him home.

“Do you even need to ask?” 

I turn around after giving the glasses a quick rinse in the sink, and there he is – the bane of my existence, the secret love of my life. Scratching his collarbone absently. Looking a little rough around the edges, but awkwardly at home in my kitchen. At home in my life. 

“Coffee?” I ask.

“No, thanks.”

I hook an arm around his broad shoulders and give a squeeze.

“Come on, shower and then bed.”

“Is that an indecent proposal?” he smiles tiredly.

“It could be. Now that I know you’re not adverse to a roll in the hay with the male of the species – it opens new perspectives, ya know?”

He gives a soft snort, then sort of twists in my arms and folds me into a warm, unexpected hug that I lose no time in returning fully.

“Thanks, Jack,” I hear him mumble in my neck.

“For what, buddy?”

“I don’t know. For putting up with me? For still being my friend?”

“You don’t get to thank me for that, Daniel,” I murmur affectionately. “It’s my privilege.” I can’t stop my hand from straying to the back of his head, my fingers sinking into the soft strands. God, he feels so good.

He slowly releases me, so I release him too. He looks a little flushed and embarrassed so I ruffle his hair gently. Why has it been so long since the last time I actually touched him? I know I’ve tried to keep a lid on my feelings, but I should never have stopped touching him.

He takes a while in the shower, but he looks all damp and rosy as he walks out, drying his hair with a towel. I lock the house up for the night and check on him in the guest room before turning in. I find him sitting in bed, down to his boxers, knees up, a burden of exhausted misery apparently resting on his naked shoulders.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask softly.

He glances up at me, his gaze so very clear and vulnerable without his glasses.

“I will be.” The half-smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

I sit on the bed.

“There are other guys out there, Daniel.” God knows I wish there weren’t, but there are and he will eventually find one who steals his heart and sticks to him and… “Other guys who won’t be afraid to give you what you want.”

“The problem is I know I can’t get what I want, Jack. And I thought I’d accepted it a while ago, but it turns out I’m still… still fighting it, as useless as it is.”

“But Morrison…”

“…Is not it,” he says. 

“Then why did you take such a foolish risk for him?”

“It was all just a stupid dare that got out of hand faster than either of us anticipated. Arousal makes me lose a few IQ points occasionally.”

I can’t help but wince at how badly this could all have backfired.

“You must promise me you’ll never pull this shit again with anyone, Daniel,” I urge him, placing an entreating hand on his bare shoulder.

The breath hitches in his throat a little and he looks away for a second – then he nods, like I’ve just condemned him to a life sentence of loneliness.

*** 8 ***

My hand remains on his shoulder. For too long, I’m aware.

I want to tell him I’m not the bad guy, here. I want to tell him I’m just the poor bastard helplessly in love with him. A poor bastard who will get his heart ripped out every single time Daniel feels the need to update me on his sex life.

From his shoulder to his face, there’s a distance my hand travels naturally, effortlessly. I very gently stroke the line of his jaw with the back of my fingers. And it’s the merest tilt of his head into the caress that sends my sanity over the edge.

I don’t even recall leaning forward, but it’s a damn out-of-body experience when my lips brush against his. It’s just a feather-light contact. Enough to feel his surprised gasp tickle my face. Enough to get a first tantalizing taste of the impossible. Enough to feel my whole world shift on its axis when I feel him respond and prolong the amazing miracle.

I’m dying. Simple as that. 

The brush of lips draws out and turns into a real kiss as I cup his cheek carefully. A simple kiss, a gentle kiss. And let’s be honest, a slightly terrified kiss, too, because anytime now we’re going to come to our senses. So I make every second of it count, giving this vanilla encounter everything I can while keeping it chaste and harmless. 

Daniel gives a low, broken whimper and ends the kiss very sweetly, almost regretfully, licking his lips in a way that makes me yearn to go back for more. And we stay suspended in time for a few seconds. We’re a little short of breath for some reason, heads butting and hands clinging, because we can’t bring ourselves to totally give up on the accidental magic. He nuzzles my lips, nips at the corner of my mouth while I try not to flatline from the delicious shock of it. Then his hand tightens at the back of my head, needy and demanding, and we dive back into madness – one of us giving an animal growl that sends lustful shivers trickling down my spine.

It is now obvious that chaste and harmless is not what Daniel has in mind as he takes possession of the kiss and starts to part my lips and push inside. This is not vanilla by any stretch of the imagination: he angles his head expertly and kisses the crap outta me – no other way to put it.

And really, I’d like to say that I’m an appalled witness to the scene, or even a helpless victim, but the truth is I am the most willing participant. And possibly the sluttiest.

After a few awkward contortions and embarrassing mewls, I end up horizontal in an advanced state of undress, with 180 pounds of horny archaeologist on top of me, insistently grinding our erections together. 

“Stop me,” he whispers hoarsely between two soul-stealing kisses. There’s a trace of whisky on his breath, but his eyes are frighteningly sharp – scared sober, I guess. “Please stop me.”

My only answer is an unseemly grunt as I buck him off, roll us over and half press my body over his as I brace a knee between his thighs. Totally winging it.

“Jack…” he warns, torn between stone cold reason and open, mindless lust.

“It’s okay,” I rasp, slightly out of breath. “We both want this. No strings attached, I promise.” It’s all the reassurance I have for him, unfortunately. I want it to be enough, but the truth is I don’t know what he wants or what he’s after. A part of me is ready to be nothing more than the purveyor of his instant gratification, even though most of me wants to be infinitely more. But not to put too fine a point on it, I’ll be anything he needs for as long as he needs.

His fingers sneak just under the waistband of my boxers, clawing slightly into the not-so-tender flesh of my butt. 

“Jack, if you don’t…”

“I’ve got you,” I tell him softly, trying to convey in one look that he’s safe with me, that I’ll take care of him. Always. Then I kiss him again, with way more gusto than is strictly appropriate – and moan in pleasure when I feel his strong hand slide to the back of my head and rake and clench through my hair. The caress is so hot and unhurried, with an edge of dire possessiveness. There’s something so fiercely loving about it, it fucking pulverizes my poor heart into a million hopeless pieces.

We finish blindly tearing the underwear off each other without breaking the kiss, and then he drags me on top of him, unambiguously opening his thighs to accommodate me.

***9***

Something yelps ‘oh-god-we’re-doing-this!’ in the back of my brain, and indeed the shock of Daniel’s hot skin against mine, of his erection and drawn balls against mine… it’s almost enough to make me come on the spot with a pathetic whimper.

I try to focus on our kiss as I spread my knees and find a balance. His tongue is endlessly sensual as it wraps around mine and slides and rolls with sinuous promise. A slight instinctive thrust of my hips and Daniel breaks the kiss with a breathy moan. And Christ, that sound is amazing and I need more of it. I roll my hips again with intent this time: there’s a sensory explosion and I’m rewarded with a deep, spine-melting groan. It’s all I need to know. I capture his lips, fall into a rhythm and discover what it’s like to make love to Daniel.

And it’s like nothing I’ve ever done, but it’s also eerily familiar in a way I can’t explain. This sultry Daniel is fierce and strong and pushy and vocal in bed – as much as the good old regular Daniel is on the job. 

I feel his calves and the back of his knees hook behind my legs, heavy and muscular, driving me down into him with steady synchronicity. The hand at the back of my head is keeping me close as his other hand wanders down my back until it reaches my ass and clamps greedily on it. The added pressure spurs me on – harder friction and hungrier kisses until Daniel tears his lips away and digs his head back into the pillow. 

“Fuck…” he curses breathlessly, panting beneath me. His eyes are scrunched shut, a tense expression of aching pleasure on his upturned face, and I swear to God it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.

But he’s not coming, because he’s resisting it. Drawing it out with everything he’s got. Teeth clenched. Abs rock hard.

Both his hands are now grappling and clawing at the nape of my neck. He is desperate and I don’t understand why he’s holding back, I don’t know what it is he really needs, but all I do know is that I want to make it all better for him. I want to make his pain go away. And right now, the only thing that seems to soothe him is my weight on him and my cock grinding so indecently against his. I grab his hip and yank him impossibly closer as I let my lips brush down his exposed throat, my tongue tasting his damp skin – and that’s enough to tip him over the edge. 

He arches up off the bed, wire-tense in ecstasy. “Ahhh, fuck… Jack,” he sobs with wonder and already a trace of regret.

Slick heat spreads under my lower belly and I can feel it lubricating the slip and slide of my cock into his groin. The blunt, masculine scent of his release fries the last few remaining brain cells I have. I come with a final, heavy roll of my hips, stifling a hoarse cry into his shoulder. The head rush is so intense I see stars and hear thunder.

When I surface from the senseless zone I was drifting in, he’s kissing me. His fingers are light and gentle in my hair, then warm and a little disbelieving as they stroke down my cheek. I go with it and kiss him back while gingerly taking my weight off of him at the same time: I collapse gracelessly on my side next to him. We’re sticky, dizzy and exhausted but we’re still kissing. I think it’s finally lack of oxygen that forces us apart.

I hog half his pillow, sling an arm over his chest and we just sink into sleep like that. There’s a sense of comforting normalcy to it, though. It’s unceremonious, inelegant. It’s very ‘us’.

A move startles me out of slumber, but he’s merely rolling us over and spooning up behind me, so I go back to sleep almost instantly. It’s only later that I see the ruse for what it was. The son of a bitch has left the bed, if not the fucking building.

Mild panic (with just a smidgeon of anger) grips me so I get up and go look for him. I find him standing in front of the windows overlooking my backyard. Bare-chested, wearing an old pair of sweatpants of mine – ones that he used to borrow regularly, back in the days when we did pizza nights. Back in the days when Daniel knew he had a place in my life.

God knows how he’s trying to make sense of what we’ve just done, but I’m willing to bet he’s got it all back to front.

He’s in full self-hug mode.

***10***

I guess this is where I have to convince him that we’re perfectly fine. That despite appearances, this was not a pity fuck. That it was about comfort and friendship, and that us being us means the brand of friendship is a little out there, but that it’s okay.

And maybe I’ll also have to convince him that tonight wasn’t about an alpha-male kind of response on my part, either. He’d be entitled to believe it. I’d like him to have a little more faith in me, but I realize this may be asking a tad too much from our slightly battered and frayed friendship.

After all, it is true that I was feeling sorry for him – but not more so than I was feeling sorry for myself. And it’s true that I was feeling territorial about him – but not more so than usual where he’s concerned. Isn’t it natural to want to comfort the one you love when he’s hurting? And isn’t it natural to want to take precedence over everyone else in the life of your soul-mate? 

Besides… as I watch his back, I get the uneasy feeling that maybe this is also where I could be hearing that I was just another itch that needed scratching. A sizeable, complicated notch on his bedpost – but a notch nonetheless.

“Daniel?”

“Did I just land myself a one-way ticket to Greenland?” There’s such lassitude in his voice. He turns his head, giving me his profile.

“No,” I reply carefully. I don’t know what else to say; surely he knows I’d transfer my own ass to the end of the fucking galaxy before I do that to him. Right?

“It’s funny, you know. When I came here tonight, I honestly thought my situation couldn’t get any worse,” he says wryly, a bitter smile twisting his lips. “I thought I’d done _the_ stupidest thing ever. And yet, look at me. I think I‘ve just redefined the phrase ‘hitting rock bottom’.”

“Thanks,” I can’t help but gripe.

“You know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately… yes.” Still, ‘rock bottom’? That hurts.

I see him frown and purse his lips in pained thoughtfulness. 

“Have I just ruined everything?” he asks quietly.

“Daniel,” I begin, and raise a hand to his shoulder only to have him flinch out of reach. It’s a pure knee-jerk reaction but it speaks volumes about his comfort level around me. “Daniel, you’ve done nothing wrong. I’m the one doing a poor job of making myself understood, apparently.”

“I do understand.”

“No, you don’t. I was hoping to rate more than ‘rock bottom’ for a start.”

He snorts mirthlessly.

“You’d rather I told you it was the best sex of the decade as far as I’m concerned?” God… I hear what sounds suspiciously like mortification in his raspy voice.

“Was it?”

He turns fully to me with an outraged and frankly disbelieving expression. 

“I’m sorry, is this about your manly ego?!”

I follow his eyes as they drift down my chest and settle for a long second on my sticky crotch. And that’s when I realize I’m buck naked. His lips twitch and I think it’s an endearing blush I see creeping across his cheeks. There goes my credibility.

“No, Daniel, my manly ego died a messy death in that storage room, two days ago,” I plow on, full of dignity. 

But an unpleasant shiver goes through me as I notice the cell phone in his hand. Which can only mean one of two things: cab or Morrison.

And I have a terrible feeling it could be the latter.

My mind replays what we did tonight, every moan, every caress. Daniel’s reaction to my touch. Daniel’s head digging into the pillow and calling my name with such fevered longing. Surely it meant something more to him than an itch to scratch, right? 

And… I can offer strings if he wants them. Lots.

“Morrison having second thoughts?” I ask evenly, nodding at the phone. His gaze drops to the screen a little guiltily. “Tell him it’s too late.”

“I know it’s too late,” he hisses defiantly, misunderstanding me. “I can’t…”

“Too late because you’ve found better,” I elaborate. “And I thought the sex was pretty amazing, by the way. In case you wondered. But then I always hoped it would be.”

“Hoped?” His eyes turn uncertain.

“Hoped. Wished. Dreamt.” I’d like him to get that this was no quickie in a closet to me. This was ‘love you till I die’ stuff.

“You don’t realize what you’re saying, Jack,” he murmurs, his eyes now riveted to mine and his breath shallow.

“I realize I’m saying I love you.”

“That’s not how it works. Not from just one roll in the sheets. I don’t think…”

“Years, Daniel. I’ve been thinking about this – and you – for years.”

***11***

The cell phone bleeps twice in his hand.

But we don’t move. Daniel stays utterly still, his eyes delving deep into mine – trying to find the catch, waiting for the other shoe to drop. I want to tell him that there’s no catch, no shoe, no dissemblance of any kind, that it’s his decision to make. His leap of faith.

And I’m confident, because if there’s ever going to be one human being in the whole world ready to bet a dime on me, I think it’s him. Daniel is forgiving and understanding to a fault. He has this totally irrational faith in humanity in the broadest sense of the word. Daniel is usually ready to trust total strangers living on planets at the other end of our galaxy; surely he can place a little faith in me when I say I love him. 

Right?

A long, endless minute seems to go by and he doesn’t move, he barely blinks – his eyes too busy plumbing the depths of what he thinks is my duplicity, but is in fact just plain, low-ceiling ineptitude.

Then his gaze slides to the screen and he reads the message sent by Morrison. He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s just read the most beautiful, the most heart-breaking, the most toe-curling declaration of love ever written by man. And my heart takes a swan dive.

“Daniel,” I croak wretchedly.

Oh God, please don’t do this to me. Don’t choose him. You can’t just give me a taste of this and then withdraw it all at the last moment. It’s… I…

Pick _me_ , goddammit! 

Daniel’s blue eyes flick up to me and they’re so filled with doubt and mistrust that it fucking hurts. Have I been so bad? Only a few hours ago he was thanking me for being his friend and I didn’t want to be thanked for that, because I haven’t been the right kind of friend to him in too long. But now I’m ready to be his friend and his lover and everything he might want me to be. I’m _ready_.

And yes, I did do my best to scare Morrison away. Color me a bastard, but I don’t fucking care. Nothing would ever scare me away from Daniel. I may have had my head up my ass for too many years, but now that I’ve finally got my priorities straight, I’ll never let him go. 

Daniel’s gaze drifts down to my shoulders, then slides down my chest, until he blinks and checks that fucking screen again.

And I suddenly remember something.

“I’m what you want, right?” I ask unsurely. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what he meant when he said he could never have what he truly wanted. I’m not being appallingly delusional about this, right? I am who he wanted. And he went with Morrison because he thought he couldn’t have me. Not because Morrison and his shiny dick had more balls than me and embraced what I didn’t even dare think of. 

But now Daniel knows he can have me. Anyway he wants. I’m his. Hook, line and sinker.

Coldness fills my guts as I watch his jaw clench stubbornly in way that doesn’t bode well.

“Daniel? I’m…”

“Why now?” he cuts me off in a hoarse voice, spearing me with an ice blue stare. “I was trying to move on, I was finally letting go. I’d found someone who was ready to take a chance on me!” he grinds out angrily, holding up the screen of his cell phone for proof, but too quickly for me to make out the words on what looks like the beginning of a conversation between him and... “You just _had_ to barge in, didn’t you? You just had to scare him away and…what, try to pretend you’ve been secretly pining after me for years? You think I’m going to buy that? You think I _want_ to buy that?!”

I’m frozen with shock. Rooted to the spot by accusations I can’t even in all decency refute because they hold such a damning share of truth.

“I’m sorry,” I rasp oh-so-lamely. “Until two days ago, I didn’t know you were into guys. And until tonight, I never suspected I even had the prayer of a chance with you.” That’s all I have in my defense: my utter blindness. My embarrassing lack of initiative.

He huffs in irritation, annoyed at himself for giving away so much of his inner conflict. I touch a gentle hand to his cheek and lean in: he doesn’t recoil this time – out of sheer pig-headedness, no doubt. 

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be the grown up in our relationship,” I whisper, my mouth inches from his parted lips. 

Then I close the distance and kiss him, pouring my stupid heart into it.

***12***

I can’t help but notice his mouth is generous and his tongue forgiving as we kiss so very sweetly.

“I love you,” I promise softly, gently pressing our foreheads together. 

“So you said.”

“And I never thought I could have you, so this is very new to me. I’m going to fuck up,” I warn with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You _know_ I’m going to fuck up. Just bear with me, okay? Even though I’m the biggest jerk you’ve ever encountered. Give me a chance,” I beg, punctuating each sentence with a slippery kiss. “I promise I’ll be worth it in the long run.” 

“You’ve been…”

“I’ve been an ass,” I finish for him, nodding at this deplorable state of fact. “Years and years of being a complete ass.”

“And who tells me you actually intend to quit being an ass?” he murmurs quietly.

“I…”

The cell phone bleeps twice again.

I grit my teeth and try not to lose my shit. I swear to God if the dickwad keeps butting in there’ll be a firing squad in his near future.

“For fuck’s sake, turn that damn thing off,” I growl.

He raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

“Please,” I amend.

“I have to answer first,” he tells me soberly, disengaging himself from my arms. “He deserves an answer. I won’t string him along like that.”

I experience a pathetic surge of bubbly joy at those words and all that they imply. He’s picked me. He’s made his choice and Captain Super-Shiny-Dick can go eat shit because Daniel’s picked me.

“Don’t you dare fucking gloat, Jack,” Daniel says crisply as he starts typing a message. 

I do my best to look innocent and deeply wounded by the accusation.

“And don’t pout,” he warns, without even looking up. “It’s not a pretty look on you.”

Bastard. And that coming from Mr. Pout himself. Although I have to say _he_ looks pretty when he pouts – I suppose that makes all the difference.

He finally sends the text, then turns off the cell phone before throwing it on the couch. Then he heaves a deep, long-suffering sigh as he turns to face me. The way he looks, you’d think he’s about to launch into the hardest, longest, trickiest mission of his life.

And yeah, okay, it’s probably the case. I admit that I can be a bit of a piece of work on occasion.

“What now?” he asks me expectantly, arms akimbo. God, the way the muscles play on his smooth chest makes my mouth water. “Jack.” His nipples are an invitation to sultry sin all by themselves. “Jack.” I can almost taste the fleshy nubs as I drag an imaginary tongue over them. “ _Jack_.”

Uh…

I get my ass in gear and scramble to wrap my arms around him. It’s a little inelegant but it does get my point across nicely nonetheless. His arms come around my shoulders and we stay like it for a long minute as I bury my face in his neck and just breathe him in. He smells so good. I’ll never get enough of this. The feel of his bare skin against mine is doing things for me. And given my state of undress, it will soon be unambiguously obvious – so I wait it out a little. Wouldn’t want to spook him.

After a while, though, I can feel him get a little restless, and one of his hands starts patting me on the back – with just a hint of benevolent condescension.

“Yeah. This is a lovely cuddle,” he comments kindly. “But… you do understand that you’re going to have to do better than this to keep me interested in this relationship, don’t you?”

“God, you’re such an asshole,” I grunt.

“You have no idea.” And it’s just the shadow of a soupcon of filthiness in his voice that makes my heart lurch massively and my dick twitch wantonly.

I groan and grab his luscious ass with avid hands to squash our erections together. There’s just a flimsy layer of soft cotton between us, and the sensation wakes up the caveman in me.

“Mmmm, much better,” he purrs sinfully. “I think you can take me back to bed now.”

It takes me about one minute to drag him back to my bedroom, tear the pants off his ass and push him back onto the mattress with a flourish.

It takes me eight seconds to get my breath back after he orders me to fuck him.

It takes me a full mind-blowing second to realize he’s moaning that he loves me as I push my cock deep-so-deep into his flawless, gripping heat.

And it takes me every ounce of self-control not to weep like a girl as I come inside him for the very first time.

*** The End ***


End file.
